


The Bestseller

by unseenbox



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Banter, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unseenbox/pseuds/unseenbox
Summary: Magic consists of knowing one extra fact. Aziraphale uses this to his advantage when a demon comes calling at the bookshop.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	The Bestseller

"Saw a thing on the telly the other day. Y'know there's a kind of spider that doesn't eat-- bugs n' meat and all that stuff?" Crowley nearly spilled his glass of wine with a waggle of his hand, but he caught himself before any harm could be done to the rug.

Aziraphale scrunched up his nose as if contemplating a free book give-away. "Nonsense. What's it going to eat instead?"

"Dunno. Some kind of tree sap, I think." He shrugged his shoulders against the soft cushion behind him and let it go.

"Not maple, surely? I think I'd know if there were spiders getting to the maple syrup supply."

"Nah, not maple. Something with a shuh in it, I remember a shuh."

"Well." Aziraphale took a dainty sip of wine. "Hurrah for them. I suppose they must save a lot of effort on spinning webs, if all they've got to catch is something that doesn't like to move."

"Moving's overrated, if you ask me. Give me a good sprawl any day." Crowley gave an excellent demonstration of the concept as he lounged on the couch. He liked his human form quite a lot -- big fan of thumbs, him -- but keeping track of where his limbs ought to go was always a bit patchy. Aziraphale sat upright on the other side of the couch, which did little to prevent a demonic arm from slinging 'round him. Aziraphale leaned into the intrusion, and his shoulders suggested a slouch.

“I could do with a bit more exercise,” he acknowledged. Then, a swallow as if the wine in his mouth had gone sour, followed by a firm shake of the head. “Dangerous business, though, heading out your front door, and dreadfully uncomfortable to boot. So, no, I think I’d best stay well clear of it.”

Crowley grinned and tried to smother it with some more wine, to little effect. Humanity help him, he liked the bastard. He’d long ago given up any hope of stopping. Retirement suited them, he thought, gave them enough time for important things like finding unopened bottles of wine and huddling up in the bookshop to drink them. A cat or something cat-like thumped at the front steps, but if it wanted a place to stay for the night it’d be better off checking in at the kennel. Crowley wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, and that went double for Aziraphale, who wouldn’t open the front door past nightfall come hell, highwater, or customers.

“It’s all academic, isn’t it, when you can just change your corporation like that,” he snapped his fingers, “and skip out on all that jogging.”

Aziraphale groaned. “Don’t remind me. Gabriel always took credit for that one at meetings.”

“What a wanker he is.”

Aziraphale puffed up, all affronted dignity. “Now, I didn’t say that.”

Crowley deflated him with ease. “Thought it, though, am I right?”

“Well.” He collapsed into the couch, and a sly look crossed his face. “It’s not an inaccurate description, no.”

“There you are, then.” Crowley emphasized his point with a wave of his hand. “We’re well clear of the lot of them.”

“You won’t hear any argument from me,” Aziraphale concurred. He relaxed into his seat a bit, radiating comfort, while Crowley stretched into the arm of the couch and whatever bit of angel happened to be in the way. “Now, have you tried the apple turnovers yet? A lovely bakery down the street makes them, and they just so happened to have delivered me some this morning.” He was just about to budge up and indicate some of the flaky pastries cluttering the table when another thumping noise came from the front door. Louder this time, and a bit sharper as well.

Aziraphale craned his neck around as if his ears were satellite dishes. “What on earth is that racket?”

“Bah,” bahhed Crowley. “Probably someone’s cat.”

“Cats don’t usually thump like that, do they?”

“S’ a big cat, then.” Crowley shrugged. The more they discussed the strange noise outside, the more likely it became that one or both of them would have to investigate, and who knew how long that would take? No, best nip this whole thing in the bud now, before anyone had to get up from the couch and let the cold in.

Aziraphale hummed with thought as he deposited his wine glass on a nearby coaster. “It’d have to be an immensely big cat. Lion-sized, say. And those don’t turn up in London very often.”

Crowley scoffed into his wine. “What, lions can’t get lost in the zoo like anyone else?”

“Dearest,” Aziraphale began, but Crowley cut him off before that smug gleam in his eye could grow any brighter.

“Alright, alright. Probably not a cat.” Crowley conceded the point with a grumble. “But the point is, whatever it is, it’s bound to get bored and wander off before too long. Find some other bookshop to camp out in front of. Once it realizes you’re not about to open the door to let it in, anyway.”

Which was, of course, the exact moment the little bell above the front entrance rang out. The color drained from Crowley’s face, and for a moment he could do nothing but blink owlishly. Of all the rotten luck. Still, he knew when he was beat, and Aziraphale’d never let anyone wander around the shop when there was a risk they might try to purchase something, so Crowley shuffled about the couch until there was enough room for Aziraphale to stand.

“Oh, bother.” Aziraphale wobbled to his feet, looking put-out by the interruption. He puttered about the backroom-turned-flat, torn between his pastries and his duty. He managed to forestall the latter only until he heard more thumping noises from inside the shop and turned rather pale. “I suppose I’d better see what all the fuss is about. Won’t be two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Crowley nodded mutely as Aziraphale tottered off. He tried not to think of seas boiling and flames leaping from the shelves. One or two of the Just Williams’ books remained unsold, just about the only memento of how this shop really ought not to be here at all, along with the rest of the world. And sure, alright, they’d pulled it out in the end by the skin of their teeth, but that didn’t mean he liked thinking about how many teeth had been knocked out by the end of it. Times like this, with Aziraphale gone and a thump in the shop, the memory of soot weighed on him like a blanket. 

“Nrrgh,” he groaned, and then he forced himself to his feet so he could eavesdrop at the door. Just because he’d started freelancing didn’t mean he couldn’t remember a thing or two. He slid forward until he pressed against the door like ivy, with his knees on the ground, one hand on the floor and another cupped around his ear. He leaned in close, and then he listened, heart in his throat.

“We’re quite closed, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, presumably sending a little cloud of dust into the air.

“Looking for something.” The voice, if Crowley could call it a voice, sounded like gravel caught in a washing machine.

Aziraphale wouldn’t budge. With great pain, he said, “You might consider trying again tomorrow,” and helpfully did not include that he wouldn’t be open then, either.

The stranger didn’t seem to be in a chatty mood. They thumped around the shop, catching creaky floorboards in their wake. “Need it now.”

“You won’t be having it now, whatever “it” is, what with the store being closed.”

The newcomer carried on with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “Saw it once. Was about twins. Had a blue cover.”

Aziraphale groaned. “Let me guess. You’ve no idea who the author is, either?”

“Books have authors?”

“Most do, yes.”

“News to me.”

“Perhaps you might continue your learning experience elsewhere.”

“Book first.”

Crowley scrunched his eyebrows together. Taking a gamble, he peered through the keyhole. There was Aziraphale, guarding his horde of books with crossed arms and a frown, and across from him was… Well. A demon, let’s get the obvious out of the way. There was no mistaking the burnt sulfur smell cloaked around them, or the way their skin seemed a size too small. Their hair stuck up at all angles but mainly up, as if the owner put a fork in an electrical socket and wasn’t fussed enough about the shock to notice. Bit fuzzy, too. Not just on the head, but all over. Mothlike, he supposed was the word.

“Terrific,” Crowley muttered to himself. “All the shops in Soho and you picked the one run by an angel.” Really, was Hiring asleep at the wheel down there? He had half a mind to write a complaint in his next report, before he remembered that a., he no longer wrote reports and b., all written complaints were used as confetti in the annual Lawyer Appreciation Day parade.

The demon turned to face the door. Crowley ducked back in the nick of time. He clamped a hand over his mouth so no one could hear him cry out in fright. Once he got that out of his system and whatever passed for a pulse back under control, he forced himself to focus on the conversation at hand. Aziraphale was still out there, and for now, there was nothing he could do to help that wouldn’t get him into an even bigger heap of trouble.

\---

Persistent, he’d give them that. Not the book, of course, but if there was any credit to go around, they weren’t keen on giving up. Perhaps that credit might be worth something to someone, some day. It certainly didn’t count for him. The strange demon lumbered about the shop, occasionally standing in front of this table or that while Aziraphale insisted, “You don’t need to use your hands to see, do you?” and the demon would put down whatever item they’d picked up.

Aziraphale heard some shuffling noises coming from the back. They turned to face where the sound came from. Oh, no, no, no, he couldn’t let them find Crowley. He wasn’t sure what would happen if they got their claws on him, but he suspected it would be quite hellish. Aziraphale hopped in front of them with a burst of speed. “That area’s for staff only. As is this whole store at the moment.”

The demon growled, low and long. Such dreadful manners, but he supposed it must come with the territory. “Taking too long.”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale hedged, “That does tend to happen when one breaks into a shop when it’s closed.”

“Door too soft. Not my fault.” The demon spared another dark look at the back, then inspected some books on a nearby table instead.

Aziraphale wondered if anything was ever this demon’s fault, or if they tripped and fell into whatever mischief they’d managed. In any case, the demon’s attention was no longer on the backroom, so he breathed a little sigh of relief. “Oh, no harm done. Assuming you can pay for the damages, of course.”

“With blood?” Their teeth looked suddenly quite sharp.

“Good heavens, no!” The demon flinched at the word, which Aziraphale cheerily ignored. “What are they teaching you down there?” Aziraphale tutted. “No, I require payment in the form of money, so that I can afford to repair the door you just so happened to break.”

“Could break you.” They cracked their knuckles. Such a terrible habit, and it caused the little hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. Stop that now, he insisted to his shaking hands. Just because a demon walked into the shop didn’t mean they owned the place.

Aziraphale gazed down his nose at the frightfully rude demon. This was a little tricky to pull off, as the demon stood about a foot taller than him, but he’d managed it somehow. He tried to keep his voice light and airy, but he suspected he came off as quite tired. “You could certainly try. But I personally wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Foolish little mortal.” The demon chuckled. Their claws formed a fist.

Aziraphale laughed. It was nervous and tense, but a laugh all the same. “I’m not, actually.”

The demon stopped laughing. “Not what?”

Aziraphale gleamed. “Mortal, of course.” He wished himself a cup of tea, piping hot, as he had a bit of a point to make and also happened to be quite thirsty. He took a sip and then placed the cup gently back on the saucer. “Surely you realized?”

The demon’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “Motherfucker.”

“No, not quite. I prefer the term Principality. And you, I suppose you have some sort of name?”

The demon grumbled and mumbled and looked down to the floor, and if they had rocks at their feet, they would have kicked them. Eventually their mouth opened and formed a word capable of being heard. “Gragg.”

Aziraphale sipped some more tea, which was doing wonders for his nerves. “Lovely to make your acquaintance. Gragg, is it?” The demon continued fuming, which Aziraphale took as a yes. “Right then, Gragg. Would you like a cup of tea?” Aziraphale may have been hosting a demon, but far be it for him to forget his manners.

“Makes me sick,” Gragg gagged.

“Right, well, let’s get down to business, shall we? I shan’t take up too much of your time.”

Gragg grunted. Their teeth gleamed in the dark, and after a long, terrible moment, they rested a claw on a nearby book. “Tear it apart.”

Aziraphale felt very cold, very quickly. As fear sank its talons into him, he heard a door creak open. Gragg didn’t turn to look, instead keeping their sharp eyes trained on the teacup. Shadows flickered behind the demon’s back. As he watched the shadows grow, Aziraphale smiled, soppy and ridiculous. Oh, Crowley. You could always put your faith in him.

Right, then. He shook his head, attempting to banish his grin and not quite succeeding. Aziraphale planted his feet and squared his shoulders. “You’ll do no such thing. That is, unless you’d like this tea splashed all over you.” Aziraphale took a sip, seemingly oblivious to Gragg’s growing horror. “I imagine it would leave quite the stain.”

Aziraphale decided not to mention that he hadn’t blessed the water. He was always careful not to leave too many holy objects around the shop, as it’d be quite embarrassing to accidentally bless your partner to death because he’d ducked into the liquor cabinet. And in any case, holy water made truly terrible tea. Left everything tasting like paint thinner. No, thank you.

“Coward,” Gragg grunted. They’d taken their claws off the book, however, so that counted as progress.

“I suppose I must be,” Aziraphale muttered into his tea. Raising his head, he added in a much louder voice, “But I don’t have to be brave if I’m accurate enough.” It’d be difficult to clean the tea stains off the books if he missed, after all.

Gragg didn’t take the threat lying down. No, instead they stomped around, claws tearing at their scalp, managing to somehow scream and yell at the same time. Aziraphale kept an eye on them, and when they shoved a pile of books onto the floor, well, he’d just about reached his limit.

“Enough of that!” he shouted. He was so cross that some tea splashed out of his cup as he set it back in the saucer. Gragg yelped and went stick straight. “Now, then. You’re going to fix the hole you’ve made in my door, and then you’re going to send yourself somewhere far away from here. Bermuda, perhaps. Am I making myself clear?”

Gragg may not have been a particularly clever demon, but they knew enough to know when they’d been beat. Or, more to the point, knew enough not to risk being smote by a particularly incensed angel.

“Book not worth this.” They grumbled some more and continued their moaning and groaning as they waved their claws and patched up the door. They slammed the door behind them as they stormed out, and where they went after that, Aziraphale couldn’t say. So long as that place was not in his bookshop, he was sure he’d muddle through somehow.

Aziraphale stood for some time, until he was certain the demon had gone, and then slid to the floor with great dignity. His knees had quite enough excitement for one day. The teacup sloshed out next to him and he didn’t much care, even as some of the earl grey seeped into his trousers. He rested his head against the bookshelf behind him.

“I suppose that could have gone better,” Aziraphale muttered. Crowley appeared out of the shadows, looking a bit dazed.

“Well, maybe,” Crowley said. “Better than my idea, though.” He dropped the large candlestick he’d been holding with a CLUNK. Crowley slunk through the bookshop, and Aziraphale heard the telltale clattering of him putting the knocked-over books away. “And, hey, you’ve still got all your books and a shiny new door. I’d call that a win, any day of the week and twice on Sundays.”

“There’s a point,” Aziraphale considered. Moving would come later if it came at all. He hummed, content enough to laze against the shelving. Crowley nudged him a little with a snakeskin boot to make room and then plopped down beside him. Aziraphale took his hand, and only looked over when Crowley gave a little squeeze.

“Could miracle over the wine, maybe some of those pastries. Have a little in-store picnic, what d’you think?”

Aziraphale hummed, dreaming of apples. “Yes, I think that will do nicely. Only let us rest here a moment, first?”

Crowley kicked his feet up, wedging his shoulders against the shelving until he found an angle he liked. “Way ahead of you there. Knew you’d come around to the idea of naps eventually.”

“Yes, dear,” he sighed. Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss to his brow in lieu of an argument. “Quite right.” There was nowhere in the world he’d rather be, and perhaps more to the point, no one in the world he’d rather be with. He shut his eyes for a while, certain that Crowley and his books would still be there whenever he managed to open them again.

He’d be keeping the shop closed tomorrow, just in case.


End file.
